Mexico, joyful, violent and sublime, as a football team and a nation, are out of the World Cup. It particularly pains me that they lost at that heaving cauldron of noise, the fantastic Azteca stadium. I thought they might at least make it to the semi-finals, to provide redemption to a nation that was convinced—or at least hoped—that a time for celebration was, finally, at hand.
Glorious Mexico, where football and the fate it delivers send the masses spinning into delirium and tears, where the poets wax lyrical in defeat. The writer Juan Villoro once wrote, “Dios es Redondo.” God is round. His assessment of El Tri 20 years ago (borrowed from an Argentine coach) summed up Mexico’s fate this month at the Azteca: “Jugamos como nunca y perdimos como siempre.” We played like never before and lost like always.
Even further back in 1992, the poet Antonio del Toro wrote of the “dictatorship of the hand… to the foot emancipated by the ball and the grass, to the foot that wakes from its servile lethargy, to the artisan leg that dresses up and goes to a party...”
You admire some countries because they play well, others because they lose well. I, as my friends know, have always had a thing for the romantic underdog.
On the other side of the world on the subcontinent, we know not of this party, the verse, rhyme and rhythm of football—we who may celebrate Messi and his method but, really, know only of fine leg and Virat Kohli. Still, millions of us join the party, enthusiastically exchanging (self-proclaimed) expert opinions on family and friends’ Whatsapp groups, waking up before dawn and excitedly joining the fiesta del mundo.
In our house, the wife, who is the real sports fan, tried to keep us fired up—and up at night. Without realising it, we extended the Mexican metaphor into our food. It was, I will confess, a bit of an effort for me—both staying awake and the food, the latter because most of my cooking is like taking a penalty, quick and easy (although Aussie penalty takers may demur).
So, when we decided to make a Mexican bowl for lunch to mark the World Cup, I sighed. I have made bowls before, and I am aware of the planning they require. We order bowls from outside, but they always tend to have an ingredient you do not want or is not made as you might like.
It turned out to be quite simple. The key is to organise all the ingredients, then just do it. You can make the chicken or the paneer in this recipe any way you want; we chose to use a small can of Mexican chipotle peppers in an adobo sauce as marination. A small amount was enough to raise our protein to the next level, like an Mbappe solo, a Messi curve around a wall or even a Quiñones volley.
I noted that the adobo sauce—a combination of rehydrated chillies with vinegar, garlic, tomato paste, and, perhaps, cumin and Mexican oregano—was somewhat like a mole, a thicker curry like combination that also includes nuts, seeds, and often chocolate. Indeed, the Mexian nobel laureate Octavio Paz, who was Mexican ambassador to India in the 1960s, famously posed the question: “Is mole an ingenious Mexican version of curry, or is curry a Hindu adaptation of a Mexican sauce?”
Mexico may have left the tournament early, but El Tri (another name for the national team, short for its flag, El tricolor) will remain on our dining table for a long time, reminding us that football’s greatest gift is not victory but the journeys it inspires. Olé.
EL TRI MEXICAN BOWL
Like good football, this bowl is about teamwork rather than stars. Prepare each component separately, then bring them together at the end.
Ingredients
For the beans: One can black beans (I used La Costeña); 1 grated onion; 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped; 1 tomato, pureed; Salt, if needed.
Sauté the onion, garlic and tomato for five minutes. Add the beans with their liquid and simmer for another five minutes. Taste before adding salt, as canned beans are already seasoned.
For the corn salsa: Kernels from 1 boiled corn on the cob; half onion, finely chopped; 2 green chillies, deseeded and chopped; juice of 1 lime; salt to taste.
Mix everything together and let it sit while you prepare the other components.
For the tomato salsa: 4 tomatoes, deseeded and finely chopped; half onion, finely chopped; 2 tbsp chopped coriander; 2 green chillies, deseeded and chopped; juice of 1 lime; salt to taste.
Combine all the ingredients. Add the lime juice gradually and adjust to taste.
For the chipotle chicken or paneer: Two skinless chicken thighs or paneer made from 2 litres of milk (or 2 packets store-bought paneer), cut into strips; 1 can chipotle peppers in adobo sauce; Garlic powder; Dried oregano; 1 tsp oil (for chicken and paneer each).
Blend the chipotle peppers with a pinch each of garlic powder and oregano into a rough paste. Marinate the chicken or paneer for at least an hour (3 is better).
Sear the chicken on high heat, then cook gently for 15–20 minutes until done. Rest before slicing across the grain. For paneer, pan-fry in a teaspoon of oil until lightly browned.
Cheese: Grate cheese of your choice (I used cheddar).
Rice: Toss warm white rice with chopped coriander and a squeeze of lime.
To assemble: Layer rice, black beans, salsa, chicken or paneer and grated cheddar. Serve immediately.
Our Daily Bread is a column on easy, inventive cooking. Samar Halarnkar (@samar11) is the author of The Married Man’s Guide to Creative Cooking—And Other Dubious Adventures.